The Fabrizio Bride

Chapter Eight

Sarika flagged down a taxi and headed to State Street. She wanted to be around people, and even on a Monday night, the downtown was crowded with tourists and locals alike. Her heels were comfortable, and she joined the throng on the street—window-shopping, watching people, and enjoying the warm summer evening.

Soon she was too hot in her lightweight suit jacket and headed to the waterfront and Stearns Wharf for a hazelnut gelato. Finding a seat near the fountain with the trio of dolphins at the entrance to the wharf, she stripped down to her lilac-colored silk tank top and savored a spoonful of her treat.

It felt good to defy Rafe, to somehow regain the pride she'd lost every time she let herself believe he could love her. Let herself get sucked into a place of wanting what she couldn't have, rather than accepting he wasn't the man for her and moving on.

There were millions of men in the world. Why had she picked the one incapable of returning her feelings?

"That was a big sigh for such a beautiful woman."

Sarika looked around in surprise. An attractive man sprawled on the bench beside her with an eyebrow raised. He looked to be around Rafe's age, with blond hair and piercing, blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize I had sighed."

"It shook the heavens."

She smiled...and waited...and waited...for that little kick in her stomach that signaled attraction, signaled an interest in any other man but Rafe.

Nothing. She sighed again, dramatically.

He laughed. "That one went beyond Heaven."

"To Hell and back."

He held out his hand. "I'm Justin."

She grasped it, determined to make herself behave like a carefree, young woman, if only for a moment. To let him flirt and charm her, make her feel special—at which, by the glint in his eye, she was sure he'd excel.

"Sarika," she said.

He kissed her hand. "A beautiful name, too."

He made her laugh as she finished her gelato, but in the end, she declined his invitation to dinner and went in search of a taxi to take her home, back to the man who'd been hovering in the background, whether he was physically there or not.

After the taxi dropped her off, she looked up at Ana Lisa's grand villa. Should she circle around and try to sneak in? A sturdy cedar grew below her bedroom balcony; she'd become quite adept at climbing it when she was a teenager.

Rafe had caught her once and lectured her for half an hour, just as he was sure to reprimand her now, except she was twenty-five, not fifteen, and she didn't have to listen.

She turned and flopped down on the steps. Sneaking in wouldn't do any good; he would have known she was here the instant the taxi passed through the gates. Besides, a part of her longed for the confrontation, wanted to fight with him. How many minutes before he came to find her?

"Are you happy now?" his voice boomed from the doorway behind her.

Seconds. Not minutes. He must have been really mad.

"Nope. You made sure of that." She stood and faced him, hands on her hips. He'd shed his jacket and tie, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top with the cuffs rolled back along his forearms.

He gesticulated wildly, the Italian in him coming out as he descended the stairs. "All I try to do is protect you. I pay a lot of money to keep the family secure, and like it or not, you are part of this family. There have been threats against us over the years."